


Humans Have No Class

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Interspecies, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Stomach Bulge, kismisitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did you even let yourself get roped into spades with this fool? Honestly, he's ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humans Have No Class

You’re faster than he thinks you are. Faster, and more adept at picking out little noises in the area. He thinks he can flashstep past you, feign right and go left, and you won’t catch him, but he’s wrong, the imbecilic mammal. His sword skills are amature at best, the way he’s trying to thrust with a slicing blade, and you know from more than a few conversations that he doesn’t actually know the difference and just thinks the swords he uses are “cooler looking”.

Deplorable, really.

He thinks that someone as large and STRONG as you could never hope to be as quick as he is, and he’s only half right. You could be as fast as him, but you value finesse over speed. Where he can run for six hours and barely wear you down, you can pin him to a tree with ten well-placed shots, sometimes.

You wonder if he’s ever courted a troll before. Does he even consider it a courtship?

Either way, you let him do his best to shove you into a wall, taking a step back surreptitiously to lead him into believing he has the upper hand in this spat, but when he tries to yank you down by the front of your jumpsuit, you don’t budge. To his credit, he does follow through, lifting himself up to get in your face when he can’t get there the way he’d planned.

"Ready to give up, you goddamn sweaty condom?" He snaps, his voice hardly the growl you’re sure he wants it to be. He bares those blunt teeth in a grinning snarl. "Or did you want me to beat some more sense into you?"

You’re not entirely sure what he called you (he mentioned it once when he’d “accidentally” tore the bottom half of your suit open, but hadn’t elaborated), but you know that he couldn’t beat anything into you if you had all your limbs behind your back. “Actually, I thought it was time to stop playing around.” Hand closing first over the back of his neck, because he always does this little shiver when your skin touches his. He thinks he doesn’t, but he does.

Claws tickling the nape of his neck, your other hand comes up to the front of his shirt and lifts him above your head, though he doesn’t squawk as loudly as he did the first time you did that. His blunt nails dig into your arm and he tells you to let him down, but you can really barely feel it. He’s not anywhere near as STRONG as you are, after all. But you guess, for scale and species difference, he’s not too bad.

(All your posturing aside, you admire him quite a bit. Otherwise, you mean, why would you see spades for him every time he mentions those  _fucking_  puppets, with all the talent he obviously has?)

(Had, you remind yourself. Death just doesn’t feel permanent anymore.)

Just above you, Bro is cursing you in every language he knows how, near foaming at the mouth, and you’re about to toss him at a tree to keep your fight going until he grabs the tip of your horn and does this twisting rub sort of thing and you nearly pass out, hot flying hoofbeasts what even is that thing he’s doing, and you’re shaking all over by the time you manage not to fall on your face so much as just kneel on the ground, breathing hard. He laughs, his other hand taking it up, and you wish you could stop the groan you make.

It takes a few moments more than you’d like, but you manage to grab him, your claws tearing through his pants when you try to yank him down. He stays standing, laughing about you being eager, and focuses his actions on the bases of your horns, tilting your head back to mash his lips against yours. You snarl into his mouth, though comparatively you sound like a meowbeast grub, and he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, just barely breaking the skin.

He yelps when you shove him onto the ground, and you take that opportunity to shove your tongue into his mouth, prowling over him and pressing your knee against that weird not-bulge between his thighs.  He groans, grabbing the back of your hair, and his mouth looks bruised when you pull back, even once he licks the blue blood —  _your_  blue blood — off his lips. Your nook is getting slick even before he grabs your sheathe like it owes him money.

"Are you gonna let me at that, what was it? Nook?" He half-growls. He’d be much better at this if he actually remembered the names for things. "I mean, I’ve got a dick to write home about."

You scoff, but you are pressing into the way he grinds his palm into your nook, your face coloring. “I thought your stage name was ‘Dick Ryder’,  _Bro_.” Ha, you remember the name for his weird alien bulge, you’re totally winning.

A hiss presses through your teeth as he actually digs his nails into your sheathe, and you retaliate by clawing his shirt to shreds. His ‘dick’ is getting hard, and you actually feel it twitch when you toss the shreds of his remaining clothes aside. He’s only in his underwear now, and you worry that he’s just on the forest floor like that for about three seconds, then he pulls you back by tearing your suit from the crotch to the chest in one large, tapering strip.

Snarling, you shove his shoulders against the ground and lean in to bite at his neck, mostly to distract from the fairly obvious prematerial on your inner thighs and how your sheathe is already swollen and flushed, your bulge twitching just a little ways out. He notices, of course, and you have to stifle a moan when he presses two fingers into you, rubbing these little circles with his too-warm fingertips and his hand on the back of your neck. Biting your lip, you watch him when he removes them, then licks the blue off his digits.

He mumbles something like “I should just use my mouth anyway” just when you tear his weird orange boxers off. His voice is half husky, half genuinely relieved when you drop a hand to your bulge and his knees hook over your hips.

"Fuck, finally. Why do you always take so long?" He drawls, quite obviously not trying to sound too excited. "You and me both know you’re just waiting for this every day."

Your eyes roll and you force your sigh to be overdramatic, mostly because it (hopefully) draws attention away from the fact that your bulge is dripping all over the place. “I’m not surprised that you don’t understand.” You both gasp when your bulge wraps around his, coiling over it and pressing down, to prod at his wastechute.

(You refuse to admit how thrilling something like that is for you, since before you died you’d only had traditional pailing, for pail-filling only.)

"What do you, mean?" He mutters, and you don’t miss the pause he makes as your bulge starts to press into him, slow through sheer force of will, even though he’s said that it really didn’t matter at that point. "Are you really saying that troll-fucking is too complex for me?"

Claws biting into his thigh just barely as you run a hand over it, lifting it up a little higher. You’re a little slower to respond because, fuck, he’s  _hot_  inside. “That is exactly the point I’m making. Someone like you couldn’t understand.” His thighs go tense and you stop moving into him, eyes crawling up to his face from where you’d been watching your bulge feed into him.

"Fuck do you mean by that?" He groans, his hips rolling up and his legs readjusting on your hips before he lets out this tiny little moan and relaxes against you, his head falling back and his hat finally falling off.

The noise you make is altogether feral, this clicking growl in your chest, and he moans out loud at that, his body pushing up against yours. “I mean someone as  _loathsome_ , gh, nmm, as _verminous_  as you, would never understand even just, basic romantic principals.” Your bulge twists and you both swear, him louder than you.

He makes some kind of “talk later” noise and grabs your shoulders, tugging until you lean in to kiss him again. Your bulge is about halfway in him and you already know he’s trying to stall his own orgasm, because he’s trying to get you to bite at him more than anything. Humans are so strange, even in the bubbles, he needs a while to recover after he comes, usually. Sometimes, he’s fine, just shaky and louder when he spills. It seems to be, in his words, a “crapshoot” on whether or not he’ll be able to keep going once he’s come, or if he’ll have you stop.

For now, though, you both squawk when your bulge writhes into him a little more, your hips twitching forward just barely and his stomach twitching, some strange, choked noise falling out of his mouth before he’s gasping at you not to stop, not until he tells you, and you decide to humor him because… Well, because you just want to fuck him, okay?

Bro yelps when your hips move, and then he’s telling, or, begging you not to pull back, and you decide to see if he can actually take your whole bulge the way he always says he could (he says it like you both don’t know that your bulge is substantial, but your reasoning is as sound as you need it to be to press into him.) It takes a few slow, careful thrusts, and he’s shuddering all over, his stomach lurching.

Or, wait, no. That isn’t his stomach so much as your bulge under his skin, pressing up and making a bump. His hand goes from pulling the grass out to rest on the lump and he sobs, his other hand moving to run through his hair. You wait, breathing slow and hard, doing what you can to keep your bulge still and ignoring the way your thighs shake.

Finally, he says something you can understand. “Gh-od, will you just, fucking  _move_  already, Jesus, fuck.” As he speaks, his heels press against your lower back.

The noise he makes when you sit back and pull him down on your bulge would be almost comical in another context, but all it does now is make your bulge lash in him, this weird little squeak. You both need a few moments to breathe and adjust, you to his heat and him to, well, you in general, you suppose. He moves first, sounding halfway pained as he does, not even really riding you as jerking his hips, his bulge dripping that clear prematerial it does. You fist a hand in his hair and tug his head back, until he has to lift himself on his knees, and you hold him that way to thrust into him.

Really, you could just let your bulge do the work, but you like the friction, and the way his breath catches on his curses when you thrust. His nails bite into your shoulders as you move, not quite enough to draw blood, but the bruise you can feel forming is enough for you, enough to have you leaning forward to bite at his neck. His hands try to grab at your horns again and you snarl, yanking his hair back hard enough to make him shout.

"Don’t touch those." You hiss, your own blue eyes narrowing at his dingy orange ones as you slam into him a little harder.

He almost makes a keening noise, not really having the mind to question you, you guess. His dull claws grab at you, gripping an ear and your hair to pull you closer, his lips hitting yours hard enough that his lip, which had been just starting to swell up, splits. You can’t really help the way you react, pushing into him as far as you can and pulling him against yourself, your tongue laving over the cut to taste the coppery blood spilling from it. He shudders and clings to you, spilling his material and clenching his body as he does.

Your bulge writhes in him and you make yourself pull back from the blood on his mouth because even if it’s normal for trolls to spill blood to some degree, and it’s only a small amount that probably doesn’t even hurt much, he gets on your case if you keep at his wounds much. He’s shaking, his entire body twitching into a curl with each movement of your bulge inside him. The lump of it under the skin of his abdomen is still there, still moving, and you stroke it with a claw because it makes him jolt.

"Keep." He gasps, jolting again when he shifts on accident. "Keep moving."

Your body reacts before your mind, bending him in two and grinding against him, the heat and sight of your pitchcrush so fucking  _destroyed_  under you already pulling your orgasm up from the soles of your feet. He makes weak, pitiful noises, his face flushed and his hair wilted, stuck to his cheeks and forehead. If you were flush for him, you might brush it back. For now, though, you bite his shoulder, because it makes him claw at your back and the stinging is just enough to pull you over.

Bro moves against you, weakly, as your material fills him, whining something like “cold” as his bulge twitches, a tiny amount of the weird, white material dripping from it’s tip. You rock into him, your cheeks dark, because you’ve never told him about the general taboo around this whole situation, and topping it off with not using a pail is just the sugargel on the baked good.

By the time your bulge begins to retract and you pull away, he’s limp, breathing slow and deep, and you can look at him, covered in bruises in the shape of your mouth and hands and leaking your material, and you feel the strangest sense of accomplishment. Your suit is ruined, and so are his clothes, so you just tear the rest of the suit off and, as he’s sitting up and sloshing your material onto the ground with a noise you can’t place. Once he seems ready, you pick him up and tuck him under your arm, ignoring his weak jabs because you both know he won’t be walking until at least tomorrow.

He does, however, get a cup of tea (cold, thanks to his weird obsession with cold sugar drinks) dumped on his head when he complains that your old clothes are ridiculous. Humans, you decide, have no class. You’re so in hate with him, you wonder how you ever made yourself think you  _really_  hated the fools you pailed before death.

At least you have more than a lifetime, now.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, Dick Ryder here with the latest in puppet technology: the iSmuppet  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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